


Terror in the Square

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Delusional sniper?, Established Relationship, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sherlock injured, Terrorist attack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes to find John and he are in a tight spot. A sniper is randomly shooting into the innocent tourists in the square. Will they succumb to the gunman's insanity?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terror in the Square

**Author's Note:**

> Not being British, I can't give accurate accounts of what square I'm talking about here. Could be Trafalgar? I know I should research it and write from a position of knowledge, but I'm going to plead no contest and move on. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> *ATB - Anti Terrorist Branch. Like our SWAT teams

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Screaming, people were screaming. The grey cloudy sky threatened rain. Everywhere the sound of humans screaming as they ran in absolute terror filled the air.

Sherlock came to consciousness in darkness, cloth covering his face. He was crammed into a tight corner on his left side. Someone was on top of him. Pressure. Someone was pressing into his thigh. Painful pressure.

“John?” Sherlock cried out reaching to move the covering from his face, to push the painful pressure away from his leg.

Pop! Pop! Pop! The screaming intensified. POP! POP! Silence.

“Sherlock, hold still. Don't move!” John's voice cut through Sherlock’s mental confusion. He stilled himself immediately. The tone of John’s voice spoke of danger. Emanate deadly danger.

“Where, where are we, what’s happening?” Sherlock’s baritone voice was a breathy whisper.

“We’re in the square, remember? By the fountain. There is a sniper somewhere. You were hit. I have to press hard, Sherlock. I have to control the bleeding.”

“Christ that hurts like hell, John.” Sherlock felt the pain, the overpowering pain drowned out his reason, short-circuited his logical brain.

The silence was broken when the cries began. People were crying for help, screaming in their own private, painful hells.

The rain, which had been light, turned torrential. John inched his jacket back over Sherlock in a futile effort to keep him dry.

Sherlock opened his silver - blue eyes to see the welcomed sight of John’s face. John was tight with anger and unspent aggression. He had an injured Sherlock with no way for John to help him. That’s not a place you put John Watson. Sherlock smiled his best little boy smile. In this shitty situation, it was a welcomed reminder of Sherlock’s love for his John.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

One of the bullets came too close and fragments of the fountains marble showered them. John pushed Sherlock tighter into the area at the base of the fountain as a small shard of marble struck his cheek, dangerously close to his right eye.

“John, you have to get out of here...” Sherlock began, his hand coming up to touch the facial wound. “You’re hurt.”

“Sherlock, we leaving this place together or not at all. Got that?” John's voice trembled with anger as he took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it firmly. “We are going to get out of this. I will get us out of this. Do you understand?”

“Hey, you at the fountain, you okay?” A far away masculine voice shouted.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

“Jesus, he's killing the wounded.” John said as he viewed the killing field that the square had become.

“My husband’s seriously wounded, severe blood loss.” John shouted back to the inquiry.

“Hang on.” the distant voice called. “The ATB* team is on the way.”

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

All around him John could see the carnage. His heart was racing, his adrenalin pumping but he could do nothing.

“John?”

John could see that Sherlock was wavering on edge of consciousness.

“I'm here, Sherlock.”

“John, I’m cold.” Sherlock whispered. “I’m so cold.”

Shock.

Holding Sherlock tight, hoping the warmth of his body would hold the shock at bay. He elevated Sherlock’s feet as much as the small space would allow. He wanted to scream for a medic. He wanted to carry Sherlock to safety. He wanted to gut shoot the bastard who was killing the innocents in the square.

The icy rain continued. John was shivering too, his clothes clinging to him. Sherlock was pale. John pressed deeply into the wound. Sherlock shuttered briefly with the pain and then fell silent. John drew himself tightly around his lover’s body. The bleeding stopped, at least from the outside.

“Please, Sherlock. Please hold on.” John placed his head against Sherlock’s chest. His heartbeat was slow, but steady.

Scanning the area John wondered where the mad man was. Knowing that the ATB team sharp shooters would be in place soon, but would it be soon enough? John felt the tremors of anger assault him. He wanted to rage against the senselessness of this senseless act.

From far away the sirens wailed, horns blowing. It seemed they had been there for hours, but as John glanced at his watch, it had only been eight minutes.

“John?” John strained to hear Sherlock’s words.

“I’m here, Sherlock.”

“John, my love. I’m sorry I don’t speak that word often enough.”

John felt tears gather behind his eyes, but he would not submit to them.

“It’s going to be okay, Sherlock. The ATB team...” He stopped mid-sentence.

“Hold on my love,” John held Sherlock tight. “We’ll get out of this soon.”

He pressed his forehead into Sherlock's chest, nuzzling himself there. Sherlock's hand came up to caress his fair hair with a knowing tenderness.

“Stay with me, Sherlock. Don’t go. Don’t ever go.” John's words were like a mantra and when Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, he saw a fierce possessive passion. No one had loved him like this before.

John watched as Sherlock’s eyes lost focus, his head falling back inches from the ground. John cradled his head as he lowered it. He kissed Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock was unconscious.

“Damn.” John spoke softly, the rage inside him ready to burst.

Shooting began again and John knew that the ATB team had arrived. The multiple shots fired were not from the snipers rifle.

Then, at the edge of the square, men in Kevlar vests with helmets bearing medical insignias came into the square in pairs carrying the wounded out.

Again, the gunfire exploded as the paramedics braved the plaza pulling and carrying people to the safety and shelter of the surrounding buildings.

“What we got?” A young man Sherlock's age crouched next to John and Sherlock. His badge said his name was Wyatt.

“I’m Dr. John Watson, there’s possible arterial damage. I’ll keep pressure on.” John said.

Wyatt began checking Sherlock out. “Stan, we are going to put this guy on the stretcher, pronto. Straight to A and E.” Wyatt yelled at his approaching companion.

“I can’t thank you enough,” John began.

“The fat lady hasn’t sung yet, Doctor. We got to get him out of here first.” Wyatt smiled with positive reassurance as the gunfire continued. He noticed the matching bespoke Celtic wedding rings on the victim and his doctor.

With the utmost care, Stan and Wyatt lifted Sherlock onto a lightweight stretcher and the four of them hurried off, out of danger.

Stan and Wyatt placed the stretcher onto a gurney and strapped Sherlock to it. They lifted Sherlock into the ambulance with John accompanying them still clinging to the wound. Stan went to the driver’s door, entering the ambulance turning the engine over.

“Thanks for helping,” Wyatt said.

Covered in his lover’s blood he looked to the young paramedic. He’s my husband.” John stated.

“I know. Saw the rings.” Wyatt smiled at John knowingly.

Wyatt began hooking Sherlock up to monitors. Hanging a bag of fluid on the hook above, looking for a good vein to infuse him. Wyatt was working fast to stabilize his patient, as John watched with great intensity. Stabilized, the life support equipment beeped and whirred telling John that his Sherlock was no longer on the brink of death.

John looked at his beautiful lover. A terrorist or some mad man’s delusions had nearly taken Sherlock from him. He was sure it would be on the news for hours for the next week. None of that mattered now. Only the man before him was of any concern. Sherlock was his world, his universe, his life.

“John?” Sherlock opened his eyes searching for his husband. He said his name with adoration and yearning.

“I’m here, love,” John said. Brushing Sherlock’s damp dark curls from his pale forehead. “I’m always here.”


End file.
